


Broken Crown

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected one-shots of Damian Wayne family relationship studies. </p><p>All based off of 'Broken Crown' by Mumford&Sons</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first bit of fanfiction for Batfandom back in 2012, and also my first foray back into fic writing after a year or so hiatus from the craft. This song is just Damian Wayne all over, and I ran with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Touch my mouth and hold my tongue. I’ll never be your chosen one.”

Damian sat in front of the computer banks, watching the monitors while Titus lounged at his feet. He could see everyone – his father at the police station, Grayson at the docks, Drake above the national bank, and Todd about to take down a drug-dealer near Crime Alley.

He sighed angrily as he pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. He should be out there too. He should be with Batman at the police station. He should be with Nightwing at the docks. Hell, he'd even accept being stuck with Drake or Todd, so long as he was  _out there_. Working for their cause.

But no. He was here. In the cave. At home.

There was no reason for it that he could think of. He was not injured, at least not in any sort of disabling way. He and his father had not argued recently. There were no  _ridiculously_ mad men running around Gotham. It wasn't even raining, which was a reason Grayson once used to leave him behind.

"Need anything, sir?" Alfred approached the consol, staring at all the screens. Titus raised his head slightly, giving the butler's shoe a lick of recognition.

"No thank you, Pennyworth. I'm fine," Damian answered, eyes unblinking as he watched Tim swing into a window at the bank.

Alfred glanced from the screens to the young boy who watched them before giving a small smile as he turned away, "They'll all be home soon. Try not to worry too much. You know how Richard feels about that."

Damian snorted as he leaned back in the chair. Stupid Grayson and his stupid feelings.

He watched the screens for hours, his family fighting the bad guys and saving the day, just as he himself should be. He dwelled on the thought throughout the evening. There was nothing, no reason for his father to keep him in for the night. So why…?

His thoughts were broken by Titus suddenly waking up and barking. Damian listened for a moment, picking up the distinct sounds of three different motors. He hopped out of the chair, slowly shuffling his way towards the parking area. He snapped his fingers, "Come on, boy."

Titus happily walked next to him. They reached the overhead railing just as the large black car pulled to a stop, the two flanking motorcycles slowing nearby. Motors were killed and helmets were tossed as Damian tried to decipher the mood of the three men in front of him.

Bruce got out of the Batmobile, pulling off the cowl to inspect one of the front tires, asking Tim a question as he did so. Tim answered and glanced at the car as he passed to meet up with Dick, who stood in front of his bike. The two talked for a moment before Dick shouted a remark to Bruce. The man looked up, giving a quick laugh, which the two boys joined into.

Titus gave a happy woof as Damian leaned on the railing, "Fruitful evening, I presume?"

All three men looked up at him. And that's when he saw it.

The reason.

The reason he was left behind. The reason he spent his night sitting in front of computers watching everyone else do  _his_  job.

In talking with Dick and Tim, Bruce was relaxed and calm.  _Normal_ , even. When Damian had called out to them, he was looking at his father, not his brothers. He didn't care what their reactions would be. Just Bruce's mattered. And the moment his father heard his voice, panic and guard flashed through his face and eyes.

It was gone as quick as it had appeared, replaced with a small smile and quick hand wave, but it was there long enough for Damian to see.

His father still didn't trust him. He didn't trust him not to mess up. He didn't trust him to watch his back. He didn't trust him to watch the backs of any of his other children, even the murderer.

"Fruitful as ever, kid," Dick said as he came up the stairs, rubbing Damian's head.

Tim followed right behind him, "Is  _fruitful_  a common 10-year-old kid word? I thought you were going to work on sounding your age…"

"Now, Timmy, play nice. He didn't say anything to you…" Dick said as the two wandered farther into the cave. Damian hadn't moved. He was still staring at his father who, after waving, had quickly gone back to his work on the car.

"Are you coming, father?" Damian asked icily. Titus whined at his feet, pushing his head into the boy's side.

"In a little. I just need to check the axel here."

"I can help you."

"No thank you, Damian."

Damian looked away, keeping his focus on Nightwing's bike. "Father, why did you request I stay in tonight?"

Bruce paused and looked up, "I…didn't want you to aggravate your shoulder injury. Just a precaution, nothing more."

"Oh," Damian responded. He heard Bruce's hesitation in his answer, in his  _lie_ , and the assurances he threw in at the end.  _Just a precaution, nothing more._  Who were they for, Damian wondered, himself or his son?

He so badly wanted the status that Grayson and Drake – and even Todd, to an extent – had with the man they all held so highly. He wondered how long it took them to achieve it, that love, respect and trust.

He had his father's love, he knew that. There was even the possibility that his father respected him to a point. But he couldn't help it, he was a spoiled child. He wanted all three.

Damian watched Bruce for a few more minutes. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. He'd done everything his father had asked of him, everything that went against his upbringing. What the hell was he still doing wrong?

"…Father?"

"Yes?" Bruce looked up again.

Damian opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He closed his eyes and sighed before turning away, "You're a terrible liar."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’ll be home, safe and tucked away.“

It didn't make much sense. The man was too touchy, overly emotional and worst of all stupid. He was everything Damian was taught to look down upon and despise.

So why did Dick Grayson mean so much to him?

Damian thought that, after the man went back to his chosen title of Nightwing, he'd stop caring as much. He wouldn't see him nearly as often, or have to associate with him. That's what happened with his mother after all. Once he came to live in Gotham City with the remnants of Bruce Wayne's family, he forgot any sort of feelings he had towards that woman.

But instead he had the opposite reaction. The less Grayson was around, the more Damian missed him. The more he worried about the man he secretly called his big brother.

And it didn't help that whenever Damian  _did_  see the man, he was his normal, kind self. He still put up with the child's attitude and insults. Continually stood up for him against Drake and Todd. Acted like he never left at all.

The clock chimed four in the morning as Damian turned down another one of Wayne Manor's long hallways to find Titus lying in the hallway outside one of the doors. As the boy approached, the dog began thumping his tail loudly against the floor. He shushed the dog as he stroked his fur, glancing up at the bedroom he was guarding, no doubt at Alfred's request.

Damian peeked into his father's room to make sure he wasn't being kept awake due to his most recent injuries, or better yet, make sure he was still there at all. It wouldn't have been the first time Bruce had snuck out to do a second patrol on his own.

Bruce was clever, but even he was no match for the five senses of a young Great Dane.

His father was there, sound asleep, his broken arm set in a cast and sling that stretched across his chest. Bruce snorted loudly as he rolled onto his side, away from the door. Damian let out a small laugh and was about to leave when Titus suddenly pushed past the boy, running up to the bed. The dog circled the mattress, sniffing loudly to make sure nothing was amiss and his charge was still there. Satisfied, Titus made his way back towards the door, plopping himself on the floor half way through the doorframe.

Damian attempted to push the dog out of the way by tapping him with the door, trying to close it around him. Titus wasn't budging. Damian rolled his eyes, gave the dog a quick head rub, a quiet, half-hearted scolding and continued his tour through the house.

As he walked away, he thought of the time his father had gone missing during the Court of Owls business. How long had Bruce been missing? Eight days? Two weeks? It didn't matter. What did matter was during those days, everyone was tense and upset, lost in their own thoughts or search for the Bat.

Everyone but that idiotic Grayson. As soon as everyone agreed that Batman was indeed missing, not on one of many secret missions, he came back to the manor with a fat duffle bag over his shoulder, proclaiming, "Someone's gotta take care of the baby."

He hadn't meant it in a mocking way, either. He was being serious. He knew better than anyone – probably even Bruce – how easily Damian became worried about their father, even if he didn't show it. Because right after he dropped his duffle bag on the floor, he walked forward and wrapped the boy in a spine-crushing hug, whispering promises of finding their dad in no time.

He never really understood why Grayson did that, either. All logical analysis would point to the man working day and night to find his father, not staying back to take care of his kid brother while others went out in search.

But logics were never a thing with Richard Grayson. He always chose his heart over his head. Damian had first thought that was a major flaw, but over time, it became a thing to be most admired.

Like the time Grayson stood up against Talia to make sure she never hurt Damian again. Surely his head told him that was the  _worst_  decision he'd ever make, but he did it anyway.

But that could be his long-standing chivalrous morals kicki-

"What the  _hell_  are you doing up?"

Well, speak of the devil.

Damian slowly turned around to see Grayson leaning out of one of the doors. His hair was a mess and his clothes were crinkled, but he didn't look like he'd been sleeping. Damian crossed his arms, "I could ask you the same."

Dick grinned, "I asked you first."

"I've asked you loads of things first and you never answer."

"Damian…" Dick sighed and leaned against the doorframe, glancing at his watch. "It's four-fifteen in the morning. We both know you had an… _interesting_  evening, and should be resting. What're you doing roaming the halls?"

"…Nothing."

"Yea? Then come here."

"Why?"

"I want to see something."

"No."

"What're you doing in the halls?"

"I told you, nothing."

"Then if it's nothing, come here."

Damian sighed and stomped his way over to stand in front of his brother. Dick immediately put his hand on Damian's chin and pushed it up, running his other hand gently across the dark bruise that stretched completely around his neck. Damian twitched and grabbed his brother's hand, pulling it away. Dick raised an eyebrow as he clicked his tongue. Damian looked away as he said, "…I couldn't get comfortable enough to fall asleep. It hurt too much."

"Knew it," Dick smirked, putting his hand on Damian's shoulder and guiding him into his room. "Come on, we'll get you fixed up."

Dick led him over to the bed and held up the blankets, waving his free hand towards them. "In you get."

Damian stared at him skeptically. "And how is this supposed to 'fix me up?'"

"It will, I guarantee you. Now, up you go." Dick smiled as Damian gave in, climbing up onto the mattress and leaning against the wall. He tossed the blanket over his brother as he turned, heading towards the horrifyingly messy desk in the corner of the room. He then opened a drawer, pulling out a small bottle of pills. Dick finished his circle of the room by passing the windowsill to grab a half-full water bottle and came back to the bed, handing two pills to Damian. He waited until the boy had put them in his mouth, and tossed him the water bottle. "Combination painkillers and sleeping pills. Like Nyquil, but  _better_."

"…Mmmhm," Damian muttered. "But I'm sure you could have just given these to me in the hall. I'd like to go back to my own room, please."

Grayson swung his legs up onto the bed, leaning back into the mountain of pillows. "When I was younger, I hated when I got injuries like that."

"I do  _not_  want another story from your past, thank you."

"I would freak out. But the worst part of it was I'd never want to be alone. I couldn't handle it." Dick reminisced, ignoring Damian's request. "One time I had this gash on my side – you've seen the scar, you asked me about it a few months ago – and it hurt so bad, and I was so lonely, I would wander around the house for a while before going to the living room and lying in the dog bed with Ace. Did that for three nights."

Damian's interest was slightly piqued. "Father didn't find you?"

"Oh, of course he did." Grayson laughed. "He would come downstairs, pick me up and take me back upstairs to his room. He'd give me some of his secret stash of painkillers and I'd fall right to sleep. I just never wanted to bother him, so I'd keep going to Ace first."

"Stupid." Damian scolded. "Father would never turn you away for something like that."

Dick's tone was mischievous as he said, "Funny you say that, Mr. Let-Titus-Into-Bruce's-Room."

Damian turned his neck quickly to face him, immediately regretting the decision. He winced and Dick put his hand on the boy's back in attempt to soothe him a little. "How'd you know?"

"Because I checked on Bruce an hour ago and his door was shut tight with Titus in the hall," Dick said. "When I checked again about five minutes ago, the door was open with your pet horse in the way. Now he may be smart, but I highly doubt the dog can open a door."

Damian crossed his arms, looking away, pouting but also trying to hide a sudden yawn. Dick smiled and pulled the boy into his side. "My point is you don't have to face the pain on your own. If it hurts, if you're scared, you don't have to go looking for the dog to comfort you. Come find me or your dad and we'll take care of you. That's what we're here for, you know?"

"Hmm," The throbbing in his neck began to subside, and for the first time all night, Damian began to feel himself relax. He felt…okay. Here, with Grayson telling weird family stories, always ready to help, whether Damian wanted it or not. It felt like old times. And that was… _nice_.

He missed those old times. He couldn't help but wonder if Grayson did too.

Damian could feel his eyes suddenly drooping against his will. Stupid Grayson. He didn't mention how fast those pills took effect. As the pain in his throat disappeared entirely, he leaned his head onto Dick's side. "You never…you never said why you were awake right now…either…"

Dick pulled the blankets up to Damian's chin, settling in next to his barely conscious brother. He chuckled quietly, "Goodnight, Damian."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The pull on my flesh was just too strong. It stifles the choice and the air in my lungs. Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie.”

Damian knew it would happen before his parents did. He knew it before his father picked up the phone on that ship and looked over his shoulder with such a pained expression. He knew it before he heard his mother's voice on the line, placing the bounty on his own head.

Talia al Ghul and Bruce Wayne were going to make him choose between them.

The others seemed so shocked at the notion, but they shouldn't have been. His mother had made it clear from day one, on that submarine, in the pouring rain, when she first told him to pick. Stay with her or go with his father?

Damian always berated himself for his answer. He responded like a fool.

" _Do I have to choose? I would much rather we were all together."_

That was never even a choice.

But even though that was never a choice, the question never existed, either. Not really.

Damian would  _always_  choose his father. He knew that before he'd ever even met the man. Meeting his brothers and Pennyworth, becoming Robin, developing friendships with the likes of Colin Wilkes and Supergirl…these events only cemented the decision in his mind.

And maybe his mother knew that. Maybe Talia knew more about his life than she let on.

That day, after the spine-control incident, when Dick Grayson burst into Talia's secret compound, hell-bent on making the woman feel every bit of pain she put her son through. Damian thought that might have been the day he'd have to make the exception.

_"My mother will have you killed!"_

It wasn't a warning. It was a promise. His mother had made it quite clear she didn't care for the others in Batman's employ. Specifically the first Robin. And now he here was, coming into her shelter uninvited.

Once she made her appearance, Damian waited for her order. To choose between her and the circus freak, the only tie to his father he had at the time.

To choose her, or the circus freak would breathe his last.

That was the exception. The asterisk attached to choosing his father over his mother, good over evil, even after she disowned him. He'd side with his father…

… _unless_  his mother made a direct threat to anyone in his family.

It was something he didn't think he could handle. That memory, of Bruce looking at him so sadly when Talia was more than ready to kill their son. It was seared into his mind. If just the  _idea_  of his child being threatened as such caused his father  _that much_  pain, he could only imagine if…

No. He didn't want to imagine, and he wouldn't. Because he would not let it happen. He would gladly hand himself over if it meant protecting his father from  _that_.

No one knew about the exception. And he planned to keep it that way. Pennyworth would only try to talk him out of it. Grayson would become a babbling, worried idiot. Drake's pride would most likely take a hit at the notion of the "demon spawn" defending him. Todd would…probably do nothing.

Bruce…what would his father do, if he knew Damian's thoughts? His reasoning? Would he let his child go along with it, take the burden of their family's safety onto himself? Would he try to stop him, hang on to his damaged boy for as long as he could? Or would he just do what he normally did, and sink into himself, avoiding the issue, hoping it would fix itself?

But what did it matter. Damian was doing this for his father; the man didn't get a say in what happened.

What about Talia? It was highly likely that his mother was fully aware of the clause. But if she was, she never used the option. It may have been Damian's trump card, but, in a way, it was hers as well.

Damian tried to picture what life would be like back in his mother's world. Because it sure as hell wasn't his anymore. The first few months would be torture. It would take some time, getting used to that level of senseless murder and greed again. That feeling of being evil for evil's sake.

No, he couldn't. He couldn't do that again. Couldn't  _be_  that again. He may have been young, and easily manipulated by Grayson's kind words into being a hero, but he couldn't go back. He  _liked_  helping people. He couldn't –  _wouldn't_  – go back to hurting them. Not willingly.

He'd refuse any sort of instruction from that woman and would secretly sabotage attack plans against his father or any member of the Justice League. After a while, though, even with his good intentions, he'd be worn down. He'd be forced to just…give in. He'd have to. Stop training, stop talking. Seclude himself. It'd be better than making himself act on the values of his mother that he didn't believe in anymore, if he ever really did at all.

He sighed, leaning his head on his arms and staring into the living room from the kitchen, where his father was resting on the couch, Grayson and Drake on the floor in front of him, playing video games, Pennyworth sitting on the nearby loveseat, reading a novel.

For  _him_. For that man, he'd give himself up. To protect his father's heart and sanity, he'd protect everyone else against the woman he was plagued to call his mother, and send himself back into the depths of her hellish world.

Damian burrowed his face in his arms, pressing his eyes against the fabric of his sleeves to dry the tears before they had a chance to form. He wondered if his mother would allow Titus to come back with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will not speak of your sin. There was a way out for him. The mirror shows not. Your values are all shot"

"Oh, Damian.  _You're_  in here." Tim muttered as he came through the doorway of Bruce's study.

"I'm allowed to go where I want. I live here, remember?" Damian answered, not looking up for the case file he was reading. "Need help with something?"

"Like I'd ever want help from a homicidal little spazz like you." Tim said, grabbing a book from next to the sofa. Damian's head snapped up from the file, eyes narrowing in anger.

"Well, it's not like-" Damian stopped himself. He wasn't going to let his anger control his words, say something stupid.

Drake had always looked down on him. Berated him for being raised the way he was. Damian wasn't one to shift blame that often, but he knew it wasn't his fault he acted the way he did. The whole nurture over nature debate.

He understood why Tim didn't like him. His first impression wasn't…the  _greatest_. And maybe his second wasn't wonderful either. But he'd changed, matured. Through the trials and teachings of Dick, Bruce and even Alfred, he was better now.

Damian didn't hate Tim, much to contrary belief. What made his blood boil, what made him lash out, was the fact that Drake refused to give him another chance. Refused to forgive his reckless, sometimes dangerous, younger brother.

But Jason Todd got that courtesy. The hero turned murderer was still accepted by righteous and pure Timothy Drake. So why couldn't the murderer turned hero be as well?

It just…

It wasn't  _fair_.

But that's how it was. Damian was used to it, and could accept it as a normalcy. Whenever Drake was around, he'd make an insult to the boy's faults, at the same time praising himself. Making himself seem like the better hero, the better person, the better soul. Damian would retort with something witty or attempt to stay quiet, if only to save his father or Pennyworth a headache.

At least that's how it  _was_. But then Damian hacked into the files on the Colony.

Tim Drake was a  _fucking_  liar.

Most of the elder's insults included the fact that Damian had the thoughts of killing and often acted on those impulses. Drake didn't. According to him, he didn't have those thoughts, those urges.

They were different. That's what Drake  _thrived_  on. They had no similarities. No commonalities to bond over.

_Lies_.

The Colony tapes had proven it. Tim Drake thought about murdering the enemy just as much as the assassin's child. Maybe even more so.

And maybe, just  _maybe_ , Drake was more like Damian than anyone realized. They were both calculating, rational. They did not attack without reason. They did it to protect others. To save the world.

If a life needed to be lost in the process – especially the life of a villain, a criminal – then that could be acceptable. That's how Damian saw things. Apparently, if his actions with the Colony were true to himself, that's how Tim saw things too.

It was frustrating. Damian did not need his brother to like him. He got enough 'liking' from Grayson to cover the entire family. He merely needed him to accept him for who he was, to stop faulting him for a trait they both share.

Damian thought about telling the others. His father, Grayson, maybe even Todd. Just so they'd know he wasn't the only one they needed to be concerned about. That he wasn't the only  _dangerous_  one. But that would be too cruel. The others saw Tim in a certain light. Knowing the darkest secrets of his mind could shatter that image. And in this family, image was  _everything_. As much as Drake deserved it, Damian would not tell a soul about what went on in his brother's head.

He would "take the high road" as Pennyworth often told him when he came stomping out of the cave after an argument with anyone. Be the better person, the butler would say. That's the best revenge you could have.

So, reluctantly, Damian kept his mouth shut over his findings. It ate away at him, though. Slowly, it was starting to recreate the resentment he held towards his predecessor in that first encounter. As anger grew, any respect he had for the Red Robin dissipated. Now, every time he saw his brother, he was on the verge of bursting. Of screaming Drake's flaws at his face. Of grabbing his favorite sword and slashing his neck with it. Of stealing one of Grayson's escrima sticks, and beating his thoughts into Drake's brain.

How could he live like that? How could Drake look at himself and think himself so holy?

How could he lie to himself for so long?

"It's not like…what, Damian?" Tim was standing in at the door, half turned towards the desk where Damian sat. He was clutching the book tightly, looking ready to attack the boy at a moment's notice.

Damian stared at him for a moment, hoping the fiery anger in his eyes would disappear before Drake noticed it.

But they were alone. Maybe now was the time to let Drake know what he knew. Maybe it was time for Damian to level the playing field…

Alfred suddenly appeared at the door with the tray of tea Damian had asked for a few minutes before Tim showed up. Damian closed his mouth. He wasn't going to say anything now, not in front of Pennyworth.

He slammed the case file closed, tossing it onto the desk as he hopped out of the chair. He moved quickly towards the door, pushing himself between Alfred and Tim as he sighed. "It's not like  _anything_ , Drake. Forget it."

"Bad mood today, kid?" Tim called out as he and Alfred watched Damian walk away from them, "Don't go kill anyone just 'cause you're cranky."

Damian couldn't stop himself before he called over his shoulder. "And that goes  _double_  for you, Drake."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But oh, my heart was flawed. I knew my weakness. So hold my hand, Consign me not to darkness.“

Weakness was a sin.

That's just how it was. Whether he was with his mother or with his father, having a weakness could easily get you killed. Damian always thought that, as  _inconceivable_  as it was, if he had a weakness it'd be a physical one. His size, weight, age, speed.

He never, not in a million years, thought his weakness would be an emotional one. Or, to rephrase, that his weakness would be anything  _but_  his father.

Damian had tried to convince himself, and it had almost worked. The only reason he cared what happened to those bumbling idiots he was  _forced_  to call his brothers, the only reason that  _exception_  was made, was because his father cared about them.

Well, at least that's what it was for Todd and Drake. Grayson was a different story.

But that's what made it so strange, that night when he and Batman came across the other three of their troupe, bound and beaten within an inch of their life at the hands of the Joker. Damian came across their bodies first. He doesn't remember what exactly happened next, only that when his mind cleared, he was being held tight in his father's arms, trying to pull away from him, screaming as he felt tears splashing on his face.

" _I need to save my brothers!"_

Everyone just assumed Damian reacted so strongly because he spotted Dick first. After all, it was similar to the reaction he had after the man had been shot by the Black Glove. But that couldn't have been further from the truth.

It wasn't Grayson. In fact, Grayson was the last person he saw. At least, he thinks. He can't actually remember seeing Grayson at  _all_. When Damian rounded that corner in the apartment building, it was Jason.  _Todd_  was the first mangled and broken body he saw. His mind began to go black as his eyes moved from Jason to Tim, a bent and bloody crowbar between them.

After Red Hood was taken to safety by his Outlaws, and Red Robin and Nightwing were safely recuperating under Alfred's watchful eye, Damian hid. From his father, from his dog, from everyone. He didn't want any of them to see.

He had a weakness. The  _family_  was his weakness.  _His_  family. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

He tried to deny it. Tried to hide it behind hurtful words and false confidence. And for over a year, it worked. But now, when attacks from enemies like the Court of Owls and the Joker came daily, it was becoming harder and harder to keep up that wall of uncaring.

Damian curled his knees to his chest, glancing through the window behind him. He was sitting on the balcony, outside the room Dick and Tim were currently resting. He could see both of their beds from his perch, and watched for a few seconds, measuring the steadiness of their breathing. He'd done this for two days. He hadn't seen them when they were conscious, though knew they had been. During those times, he hid elsewhere. He was afraid they would see. That weakness, the one he wasn't supposed to have.

Grayson had asked for him. Every time that stupid dunce awoke from his drug-induced slumber, the first slurred words out of his mouth were, "Where's Damian? Is he okay?"

Tim did it, too. Not as often as Dick, but he'd asked at least three times in the span of forty-eight hours. Normally as a continuation of the previous thought. "Yea, speaking of, where is the demon spawn anyway?"

And Damian would hear it. He'd want to race into the room, launch himself at his eldest brother and just stay there in his arms. Hoping that his presence there would be enough for both his brothers to recover from their brush with death, but if not, at least they wouldn't be alone when they passed on.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

Instead, his body would tense. He'd ball his hands into fists and run. He'd go anywhere. Anywhere dark. Anywhere no one could see him. Anywhere he couldn't see himself.

And there he'd sit. For hours. After a while, he'd sneak back to the balcony outside his brothers' room. If they were asleep, he'd stay, guarding them. If they weren't, he'd slip away, back to his dark haven.

Suddenly, Damian heard the jiggle of the doorknob inside, and tried to shrink himself into the shadow of the corner he occupied. Light spilled into the room, and on the balcony, Bruce's shadow a clear outline on the floor. Damian figured he'd do what he always did, open the door, look in, decide everything was okay and leave.

But then he heard the clanking of dog tags, followed by loud sniffing.

Seconds later, Titus appeared at the open door, head immediately turning in Damian's direction. The dog stared at him before huffing and trotting towards him. Damian watched as his father's shadow moved into the room and, like Titus, he appeared through the balcony doors in moments.

"Found you," Bruce said quietly, sounding slightly relieved, moving towards Damian.

"Cheater," Damian answered as the dog rested his large head on the boy's knees. "Titus found me."

"Okay…so I needed a little help. But that's what happens when you disappear without telling anyone," his father said, sitting down next to him. "Can we talk?"

"Sure. We can talk about whatever you wish, Father."

"Even the other night?" Bruce watched as Damian closed his eyes. The boy gave a slight nod. "What happened?"

"I…don't know," Damian whispered. "I'm sorry Father. I promise it won't happen any more. I won't compromise our mission again."

"Damian, don't give me that. Please," Bruce reached out, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Please tell me what's wrong. Why did you react like that? I've never seen you so…" He couldn't find the right words. "Why have you been hiding?"

"I…was scared. I  _am_  scared," Damian said quietly, leaning into his father slightly before thinking better of it and pulling away. "I…thought they were dead, in that building. I thought the Joker had finally done it. I thought he finally killed Todd and Drake and Gray-"

Damian stopped. There was a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes. He felt like he was going to puke. He put his hand to his neck, realizing his breathing was heavier than it should have been. His heart was pounding. His hand was shaking, but his body was frozen.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Father…" Damian blurted out before Bruce gathered him up in his arms, cradling the back of his head.

"Oh,  _Damian_ ," he breathed, holding his boy tighter than he ever had before. "Don't. Don't you  _dare_  apologize for caring about your brothers. Don't ever apologize for caring about someone…"

"But it's a flaw, a weakness, a useless side effect of the mind," Damian muttered quickly as he melted into his father's embrace. "Mother always said-"

"Whatever she told you is a  _damn_  lie." Bruce said angrily. He loosened his grip so he could look into his son's eyes. "Caring about others –  _loving_  people – does not make you weak. It isn't  _useless_."

Bruce stared at him for a few seconds before he stood, taking Damian's hand and leading him back into the room. Titus followed. Once inside, they stood next to the closest bed, which was Tim's, watching as Titus did his routine checks, circling both mattresses before plopping on the floor between them.

Damian stared. The blood and dirt had been washed away from Tim and Dick's bodies, but he could still see it. He remembered the feel of it through his gloves as he helped transport them to safety. Still clinging to Bruce, Damian reached out to touch Tim's arm. His skin was warm,  _alive_.

"I used to be afraid, you know, that you  _didn't_  care. About anything. That you merely fought our enemies because I asked you to, like the good little soldier your mother tried to make you," Bruce said softly. He squeezed Damian's hand. "You are not  _flawed_ , Damian. The fact that you care makes you better. It makes you…perfect."

Damian paused. He'd never been called that before. Not seriously, anyway. All his life he'd been beaten down, told he wasn't good enough, in any aspect. But here was his father, the man he  _worshipped_ , saying it as if it were common knowledge, as if he were merely saying the sky was blue.

He didn't speak. He didn't cry. Instead, Damian let go of his father's hand and grabbed the blankets on the bed, pulling them up to Tim's neck. He then moved over to Dick, repeating the process, lingering at the man's bedside for a fraction longer than necessary. When he was assured the two were comfortable, he walked back over to Bruce, who had moved to stand near Titus.

Bruce kneeled, wrapping his arms around his son, burying his face in the child's hair. The clock in the hallway chimed, proclaiming it to be midnight. Damian glanced up, the question clear in his eyes. Bruce smiled, kissing his son's forehead, "How about…we take the night off. Stay here and take care of our boys. How does that sound?"

Titus raised his head, shoving it into Bruce's side, knocking him down, then planted his front paws on the man's lap. Damian laughed, petting his dog's head as he sat next to his father, leaning tiredly into his side. "What Titus said."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So crawl on my belly ‘till the sun goes down. I’ll never wear your broken crown. I took the road and I fucked it all away. Now in this twilight how dare you speak of grace.“

He didn't know the details. The what, why, when, how. But as he hit the gas on his motorcycle, yellow cape flying out behind him, he did know one thing. The only thing that was important.

His mother was in Gotham.

That couldn't be good.

"Remember, Robin," his father's voice said into his ear. "If you come across Talia first, you  _call me_. I don't want you alone with her, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Robin answered tersely. His father was tense, barely holding his fury against his former love-interest in check. Damian wasn't about to object to his orders.

Besides, it wasn't like he wanted to be left alone with his mother anyway.

Damian clenched his teeth and rode on, going through all the areas of town where his mother might be hiding as fast as possible. The darker, poorer neighborhoods. The shadiest warehouses along the docks. Potentially one of the city's many power plants.

So when a small black car came out of nowhere and attempted to sideswipe his bike, hitting his back tire and forcing the cycle from his control, he was expecting it to have just been an accident. Gotham's drivers weren't the best after all. After finding mechanical control impossible to regain, he jumped from the bike. Unfortunately, in that split second, he misjudged the distance between his bike and the building nearby, and smashed into its brick wall, hitting the back his head and knocking the wind from his lungs.

But, as he slid weakly down the wall, he wasn't expecting the car to stop. He wasn't expecting someone to walk up to him and rip the concealed earpiece and microphone from his head, obviously knowing it was there. And he  _really_  wasn't expecting his mother to appear as if by magic, kneeling in front of him and cupping his face in her hand, a weird attempt at a warm smile on her face.

"My darling boy," she whispered, stroking her thumb along the edge of his mask. Damian's mind was still spinning from the hit and his breath had yet to return, but he flinched away anyway. "What kind of freak has your father turned you into?"

No. No, no, no, no, no…

Damian stared at her angrily, unblinking. He had no means to contact his father now that his communicator had been taken. He could only hope that his now-crashed bike still had the GPS-locator that Alfred insisted on installing in functioning order. Maybe then his father or his brothers would know something happened. That he needed help.

"No…no…!" Damian muttered, trying to regain his strength and composure. "Go…go away!"

"You poor thing. Come, I will take care of you," Talia snapped to the man standing by the car. He took a step forward.

Instantly, Damian felt air in his lungs and his mind cleared. He reached into his belt, pulling out a batarang, holding it towards his mother. The bodyguard stopped, unsure of how to handle the situation. "I  _refuse_  to have anything to do with you, Mother!"

Talia stared at the weapon on her throat with mild boredom. She then waved at her guard, motioning him to stand down. "Leave us. I'd like to have a word with my son."

The man nodded and turned to the car, then got in and drove away. As he did so, Damian stood, keeping his weapon trained on the woman's throat. "I told you before, I don't need _saving_ ," he said quietly, every word filled with fury. "I meant it."

"I'm sure your father is incredibly happy with your resolve," Talia smiled. "But honestly, Damian. All this? This is no way for someone of your stature to live! Such a…filthy town. Surely you are not happy here, are you?

"I am not returning with you," Damian said through grinding teeth. "I will give you one chance to leave before the Batman or any of his allies get here. You should-"

"My child deserves better than this," Talia responded, her tone changing to one of hostility as she stood.

" _Better_? What the hell do you know about  _better_?" Damian snapped. "Have you forgotten what you've  _done_  to me? You put a bounty on my life, just so you could get back at Father for caring about me.  _You put machines in my spine!_  And you want to talk about me deserving  _better_?!"

Talia ignored him. "My child has the ability to lead kingdoms. To rule the world."

"Yes. Yes, I do. And, among other traits, I am grateful to you for said ability."

"Then why stay here, wasting your skills? Your gifts?" Talia put her hand on Damian's head, gently petting his hair.

"I'm not wasting anything," Damian said evenly, looking away from his mother. "Gotham needs me more than the world does. My father… _Batman_  needs me more than the world does."

"Does he?" Talia stared at him for a moment before smiling, pushing away the batarang and pulling her son into a loose embrace, still stroking his head. "My sweet,  _perfect_  boy. Come  _home_  with me. I will return to you the glory and riches that you are owed. That you  _deserve_. Come back with your mother, to place you belong."

Damian hesitated. Talia saw it.

"As a child, I promised you the world," she smiled again, her hands mimicking the action of placing something on Damian's head. An invisible crown. "Return with me, my son, and in a few weeks time, the entire Earth will be in your possession."

Damian stared up at her, into the eyes that he thought for years were full of love. He didn't see love in them now, but he saw something else. Confidence, truth…

It… _could_  work, couldn't it? If his mother kept her promise, which she normally did in these situations, and gave him the world. He could use that power and influence to help his father, and finish his family's mission.

There was a movement on the building across the street. Damian's eyes flickered over and he saw Bruce standing there, leaning over the edge of the roof. Anger and fear radiated off of him like heat. Batman looked like he was about to jump, the only thing stopping him being the hand of Nightwing gripping his arm.

"No," Damian shook his head, as he pushed himself away from Talia. The weight of that invisible crown disappeared. "I do not want it. Your offer is rejected."

The confidence in her eyes was immediately replaced with hatred. "Your father and his  _pets_  have completely brainwashed you. Do you not remember what I taught you all those yea-"

" _Fuck your teachings_ ," Damian hissed as he backed away from the woman, pulling his hood up over his head. Batman and Nightwing immediately jumped in to his aid, landing soundlessly on the street, Batman barely hitting the pavement before running towards them. Damian crossed his arms defiantly as his father grabbed Talia's arm, pulling her back and putting himself between her and her son. " _Your_  teachings were  _wrong_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now in this twilight how dare you speak of grace.”

"You're lying!" Damian shouted, his voice cracking. His arm didn't waver, though, and the sword stayed steady at Jason's throat.

"It's the truth, kid," Jason responded calmly, his hands up slightly, showing he had no weapons. He wasn't going to attack. He paused, letting the noise of the traffic below fill the silence between them. "I'm not your enemy, remember?"

"It doesn't make sense!" Damian snapped, raising the sword up against the Red Hood's mask. "Why are you doing this?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Yes."

Damian heard a light sigh as the Red Hood shook his head. His eyes narrowed behind his own green mask while waiting for the answer. The traffic took over again as Jason seemed to pick his words. "Stand down, Robin."

"Make me," Damian growled.

"If you say so," Jason shrugged, grabbing the sword and pulling it forward. Damian was pulled forward with it, his balance thrown off. Jason then swiped the Boy Wonder's legs, throwing him to the ground. As Damian tried to regain a sense of control, Jason grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, shoving his knee into the yellow cape and putting his weight on his brother's spine, right above where he knew Talia's machine implants were.

"Get off me," Damian hissed, struggling against Red Hood's bonds.

"Not until you stop throwing a tantrum," Jason said, calmly.

"I can easily call Batman," Damian countered. "I'm sure he won't be happy to hear of your presence here."

"The big man knows I'm here."

"Does Nightwing?"

"Hm. No, probably not."

"Then I will inform  _him_. I still don't think he's forgiven you for shooting me. Or, for that matter, forgotten the fact that it was  _your_  fault I got shot by Flamingo."

Jason tightened his grip on Damian's arm as the boy continued to squirm on the rooftop. "Robin…just  _stop_ , will you?! I'm here to  _help_  you guys, not cause problems!"

Damian didn't respond. Instead, he began to try and calm himself down, slowing his breathing and closing his eyes. He knew Jason was telling the truth he just…he didn't want to believe it.

Cautiously, Jason released the child's arm and backed away. He sat against the roof's ledge, a hand resting on his leg near his gun.

Damian lay there, continuing his deep breathing. It didn't make sense. Todd denounced the family, yet still came when called. He mocked their father for his ways of crime fighting, yet used the skills Bruce taught him to master. Grayson and Drake always seemed to include Todd in the 'villain' category, but here the man was…attempting to help?

The Red Hood claimed he was on a mission given to him by the Batman. Well, if that was true, then why hadn't Bruce told Damian that? He thought he and his father were on a 'no-more-secrets' basis. And he always mentioned when he was asking Nightwing or Red Robin or even Superman for help. Why wasn't Red Hood included? The facts presented to the detective-in-training didn't add up.

After a few minutes, Damian raised himself from the concrete and stood next to his brother, leaning on the ledge, watching the city below them. Jason glanced up at him and for a brief moment could see Bruce in the boy. The good things like strength and justice, not the bad things like darkness and anger.

"You could help me, you know," Jason sighed. "I'm not saying I need it, but I could use your… _talents_."

"I will not help a murderer," Damian responded, like he was repeating some sort of oath. "You're a monster."

"Maybe," Jason conceded. "But I'm not your enemy."

"Yes," Damian said, his hand curling into a fist. "You  _are_."

"Robin-"

"You abandoned this life," Damian interrupted, snapping his head to face Red Hood. "You abandoned  _my father_."

"Because I didn't agree with him on some things," Jason couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, even though Damian couldn't see it. "Isn't that why you left Talia?"

"I. Don't. Get. It." Damian spit. He turned towards Jason, his hands spread out in front of him. "You've attacked everyone at least once. You've made it  _quite_  clear you don't like any of us-"

"Thanks for stating the obvious. Sure you're not looking in a mirror, though?"

"-so why should I believe you when you suddenly come out of nowhere, claiming to be on a mission  _from the Bat_ , a man you disgraced and voluntarily refuse to associate with?"

"First off, I don't voluntarily refuse. I'm here, aren't I? Just like he asked. And second, you should believe me because it's the truth," Jason stood. "I may not agree with good ol' Brucie's way of getting it done, but I do agree with the baseline of what he's doing."

"Sure you do."

"We're on the same side, Damian," Jason said, beginning to get annoyed. "Different skills, that's all."

"No, that's  _not_  all. We're  _not_  on the same side. We  _can't_  be," Damian said, slowly walking backwards, putting distance between himself and Jason.

Jason took a step towards him, but stopped there. "And why not?"

"I gave up  _everything_ , Todd." Damian said. "When I came here, I gave up everything I had and everything I knew. I gave up my home, my comforts and even my own  _mother_ , who, until I came here, I thought she was the greatest human being in the world. I was taught six ways to kill a man with one hand. And you know what? I was pretty damn good at it. But when I came here, I stopped using that skill. Grant it, I was taught other effective ways of disarming someone, but my point remains. What I grew up with is not the same as what Grayson and Father insist I do. I can't do both. I can't have both worlds. It was a blunt lesson, to be sure. But I can't  _be_  that. I can't…I can't be  _you_."

Jason stared, unmoving. Damian's voice had not raised or cracked. It showed no sign of duress or emotion. Just strength. But Jason could tell that there was a battle brewing inside. He wanted to pity the kid, because he could see where the kid was coming from, but he couldn't. Not when he could feel anger rising in himself.

That kid had  _no idea_.

"The skills you claim I possess, I won't use them," Damian continued. "Not because I don't wish to help you in this mission you claim you have, or because I think they won't make a difference. But because…if I use them again…there is no middle ground for me. If I use the tools of my upbringing I will turn right back into the monster I was before I came here. And I just…I can't do that."

Damian stopped, and once again the sounds of Gotham took over the silence surrounding them.

"Tell me, Robin," Jason finally said, his voice quiet. Damian's head snapped up. Somehow as he spoke, his mind had wandered; he was looking back down on the traffic. "You claim you gave up everything. Then answer me one thing. Was it worth it?"

Damian knew the underlying question.  _Was it worth giving up your whole life to get in the good graces of Bruce Wayne? To be_ loved _by the Batman?_

The boy paused before nodding. "Yes, it was."

Red Hood seemed to ponder the answer before he walked forward and leaned down, so his mask was inches away from Robin's face. Suddenly his voice was harsh and accusing. Angry. "Then you didn't give up  _any_ thing."

Damian twitched slightly, but refused to give up any ground. His own voice hardened, "Oh? Are you implying you have?"

"Yes."

"Then, explain, Red Hood. Tell me what you gave up to lead the  _wonderful_  and  _productive_  life you do now."

"The most important thing in the world."

"And that would be?"

Jason's face remained unseen and, like Damian before, he had kept his voice strong and emotionless. But his  _eyes_. He had stayed close enough to Damian's face that the child could see through the red lens filters on his brother's helmet.

Damian would never forget what he saw.

Jason's eyes looked old. That was the first thing Damian noticed. Those eyes were old and tired, like they had seen too much violence and pain. Like he hadn't slept in twenty years. Behind that, was anger. Anger at the worshipped hero who didn't save him. Fury at the spoiled boy in front of him who just  _didn't understand_.

But then Damian saw what Jason tried to hide. What he  _always_  tried to hide. Right there, in the back of his gaze. Damian saw the child that was forgotten. The child that only wanted to survive, that wanted to help those who were innocent. He saw the child that was thrown into a war of good versus evil.

He saw the child who was murdered.

He saw the child who was never avenged.

He saw the child who was  _replaced_.

The child that Jason tried to act like died in the Lazarus Pit, but he didn't. That child was still there, stuck in that final feeling of fear as his life was stolen by a clown with a crowbar.

Damian felt his own eyes start to widen involuntarily. Finally, he understood why Grayson always tried to reason with the Red Hood before sending him to Arkham. Why Drake avoided the subject all together. Why Alfred could always stare sadly at that trophy case seemingly for hours.

They all saw that child. They knew he was there. They knew  _why_  he was there. And they could barely stand it.

Jason suddenly blinked and turned his head away as he stood back to his full height. "You say you gave up everything. You gave up your prestige and a woman barely fit to be called a human being, let alone a mother. And, okay, I'll give it to you, you gave up your name. That's a pretty big deal."

Jason began pacing the roof. Damian realized quickly that words weren't his strong point. When he had something to say, he said it in as few words as possible. And maybe Damian didn't give his brother enough credit. Jason Todd was just as intelligent as he was strong. He wasn't going to let the emotions bunched up in his head dictate what came from his mouth. Not if he could help it, anyway.

Suddenly, Jason spun around, pointing accusingly. There was no escalation. He was immediately shouting. "No, you don't get to  _fucking_  do this. Not  _you_. Not Tim. Not even the goddamn Golden Boy. None of you get to act like you need pity for the bridges you've burned to get where you are today. None of you get to talk to me about what you  _gave up_  to make a difference."

Jason stood there, half panting in his sudden rage. He shook his head and sighed, cursing as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away, walking towards the other side of the roof.

"You want to know what I gave up,  _brother_?" Red Hood shouted over his shoulder. "I gave up Bruce."

Damian felt his mouth open slightly as he leaned forward, his instincts telling him to reply. But…no sound came out. No clever retort or quiet concern. Damian closed his mouth, curling his lips around his teeth and biting them. He had nothing to say.

Jason climbed up on the ledge and glanced down at the city before looking back at Robin. Damian could see no expression of emotion anywhere on the older man but there was suddenly an air of sadness around him.

"I gave up our dad," Jason repeated softly. "And when you're forced to do that, Damian…when you're forced to give up the greatest man on the planet to do what you believe is right, _then_  you can come to me with your claim of giving up everything for this life."

"I almos-" Damian immediately wanted to stab himself. His voice ignored his mind and spoke without instruction. He saw Jason turned back towards him, his head cocked curiously to the side. Damian sighed; he had to finish the thought. "I almost did do that, what you're talking about. I almost forfeited a personal relationship with Father so I could carry out his mission."

"Did you, now?" Jason crossed his arms, his voice somewhat amused. "Do tell."

"His name was Nobody. Father would not let me help him in the mission, so I devised my own plan. I pretended to betray the Batman and left to join in Nobody's ranks."

"What happened?"

"I…got caught. Nobody tortured me. He…he tried to kill me."

Red Hood nodded slightly before speaking, his voice a whisper. "And what did  _he_  do?"

With every passing second, Damian wished more and more that he hadn't opened his mouth. He looked down at the roof, "He came after me. He rescued me."

"Did he do anything else?"

Damian didn't answer, he just continued to look at the ground.

" _Did he do anything else?"_

The younger boy flinched again, this time unable to stand his ground. He immediately blurted out, "He tried to kill him."

The silence was so deep not even the traffic could drown it out. Slowly, laughter began to bubble out of Red Hood's throat. "Of course." He muttered. "Of course he did. Aren't you the lucky bird?"

Damian stood there, again at a loss for words. He couldn't blame Todd for being angry, but at the same time he wanted to defend his father. He was only doing what he thought was right, given the circumstances of the different situations. Besides, surely Todd could find some sort of poetic justice in the fact that  _Damian_  took it upon himself to beat the Joker in the same way the clown had beaten his predecessor?

Red Hood glanced down to the alley below him as he pulled out one of his guns, examining it by the glow of the streetlamps. "You know, there was a time when I'd have  _killed_  for him to do that for me."

Suddenly, Jason pointed the gun, right over Damian's shoulder and slightly to the left. Two shots rang past Robin's head. Damian quickly turned to see who the target was, knowing Red Hood wouldn't shoot him. At least, not right now. Damian watched as a man stood up on the roof one building over, a rifle falling from his own hand as his body twisted and he fell. One of Talia's assassins.

The calming sound of traffic was immediately shattered as the body hit a car. A horn sounded, followed by the repeated crunch of metal, then a woman screaming. Damian looked back at Jason as he let out another chuckle, leaning the gun against his shoulder. There was a cruel smile in his voice as he stepped back to the end of the ledge. "Oh,  _wait_ …"

Jason jumped. Damian didn't follow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”I can take the road and I can fuck it all away. But in this twilight our choices seal our fate.”

It was habit, from when he was younger. When he felt himself starting to regain consciousness he didn’t open his eyes. He used his other senses first – hearing, smell, touch even.

He was in the cave, in the medical bay on the gurney. He could hear water dripping, echoing through the cavern as cold, stale air hit his nose. A hand was wrapped around his, with a thumb stroking his skin. Grayson’s probably, judging by the worried mumble that came with the affection.

"…Everyone’s blaming themselves, Dami. Even Jason. He thinks maybe if…"

He was warm, wrapped in someone’s arms like a baby, the right side of his face pressed against a cotton shirt, tight across a broad chest. There was a light smell of cologne mixed with the air of apple pie and Alfred’s famous tea. A light bounce as his father carefully made his way up the stairs. Metallic clanks from behind them as Alfred carries some medical equipment.

"…but sir…it’s…he’s your  _son_ , Bruce. Surely you can hold off the search for…”

A mattress. Two pillows. A heavy blanket over his body, right below his shoulders. The smell of a dog, followed by the weight of one on his left knee, which hurt slightly. Why does that hurt? Someone is lying to his left, breathing slowly in his ear. Grayson, again. The bed moves slightly as he sits up, still mumbling things, petting Damian’s hair.

There’s a presence directly to his right. Two, actually. Or maybe three, he can’t quite tell. His father is speaking. He grunts slightly as he shifts in the squeaky chair. There’s a click of a gun, then shuffling as it’s stuffed back into its holster. A quiet scolding comes from Drake.

"…have used that before. Maybe then, Damian wouldn’t…"

Drake sounded defensive, and slightly concerned. Why would Drake be concerned?

Damian quickly opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Sunlight was streaming in through the window. He squinted as he turned his head away, noting immediately that Grayson was not there, though the water bottle stuffed between the pillows was proof that he had been.

"Master Damian?"

Damian turned his head back towards the window at the sound of relief in Alfred’s voice. The butler was the squeaky chair’s occupant, while Bruce was standing behind him, staring out onto the Wayne Manor grounds. He too turned quickly at Alfred’s words.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred continued, leaning forward. Damian shrugged as he began to sit up. He didn’t get far, though, as Bruce was instantly next to him, gently pushing him back down.

"Stay down," he said, his voice strained. As Damian hit the pillow, Bruce kept his hand on his son’s chest for a second before gently putting his fingers to his neck. After he seemed satisfied with whatever he was checking, Damian’s pulse perhaps, he whispered, "Just…stay down."

"Why?" Damian sighed, complying, though not mentioning the pain that just shot through his sides. "And where’s Grayson? And the other two? They were just here a second ago."

Bruce let out a light chuckle as he moved his hand to Damian’s head. “And when were you awake, hm? Jason was here last night before he and Tim went on patrol for Dick and I. Haven’t seen them since, but I’d imagine they’ll be stopping in soon. And Dick just left about an hour and a half ago to walk Titus. They both needed some fresh air, I think.”

Damian nodded slightly. He stared up at his father for a few seconds, blue eyes locking, before he spoke, “Father, what happened?”

Bruce inhaled sharply, breaking eye contact as he looked over towards Alfred. The older man shook his head slightly, keeping his resolve not to tell. Bruce huffed his breath out in annoyance as he stood, walking back to stare outside.

"What do you think happened?" came Dick’s voice from the door. Damian and Alfred looked in his direction. Bruce stayed stoically at the window. "You got hurt, kid."

Damian would have scoffed at his brother. If only his voice didn’t break right before the word  _hurt_.

Titus peeked out from behind Dick’s legs and then bound into the room with a full gallop towards the bed. He flew onto the mattress, immediately assaulting Damian’s face with his tongue. The elder three men stayed silent in their places, letting Damian’s childish giggles fill the room for a few seconds.

Finally, Titus calmed down, wrapping himself around Damian’s shoulders, letting the boy sit up slightly while still leaning against him. A surprisingly painful experience, Damian noted. Grayson was suddenly next to him, climbing up on the bed to take his spot against the headboard.

"Surely it wasn’t that bad," Damian rolled his eyes. "I mean, I’ve had worse, we all know that."

Dick fished his water bottle out from underneath Titus and gently tapped Damian on the head with it as he grinned. “ _Not_  the point.”

"You received multiple cuts and gashes, most of which are just mild flesh wounds, a dislocated left kneecap, a concussion…" Alfred listed off. "A small dosage of some sort of poison that we have yet to identify. And a few very deep bruises."

"The worst one being on your stomach," Dick commented. Damian moved the blanket and pulled up his shirt to look. There was a thick horizontal black and purple mark stretching across his skin. There was small bandage on the far left of the mark, obviously covering some stitch work. Dick pointed at it, careful to not touch it. "You got that from being hit with a spiked baseball bat."

"Multiple times," Bruce growled from the window. Damian glanced over, watching as his father’s muscles tensed in his anger.

"While the quantity of your injuries is rather large, rest assured nothing is life-threatening," Alfred said calmly, though his words seemed to be pointed at Bruce. "A week or two on bed rest should fix you up presently."

"That’s not the point, Alfred!" Bruce snapped, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. Damian and Dick both jumped slightly, Dick instinctively leaning closer to Damian. "The point…" Bruce sighed. "The point is…"

Bruce looked at the floor, running his fingers through his hair. Everyone waited for him to continue. When he looked up again, his eyes moved from Alfred to Dick and then landed on Damian. His eyes seem to soften from his normal glare. “Damian…I don’t…I don’t think you should be Robin anymore…”

“ _What?_ " It was Dick who responded first, almost before the words were even out of Bruce’s mouth. "Bruce, you have to be kidding, right?"

"No, Dick. I’m not."

Dick stared at him for a moment as he leaned forward. “But he’s done nothing wrong! Bruce, we’re already seen what happens when you try to take this away from him. You can’t just keep him cooped up in the Manor. What happened the other night-“

"I know it wasn’t-"

"-was not his  _fault_.” Dick continued. “It was  _no one’s_  fault. We’ve looked through the evidence a bunch of times. What happened to Damian would have happened to any one of us, no matter what. So to do this because you think he made a mistake in the field-“

“ _It’s because I can’t lose him!_ " Bruce shouted suddenly. His voice echoed through the room. Dick immediately stopped talking, his own anger wilting as Bruce’s glare returned, aimed at him.

Damian had yet to speak. He was just staring at his father, his mouth slightly open in shock. At first he didn’t understand, his mind as frantic as Dick’s apparently was. But as his brother spoke, he watched Bruce’s face as it contorted into one of painful sadness and…fear?

"I know it wasn’t his fault," Bruce said, leaning against the window. "He did nothing wrong, no one did. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about  _losing_  him, Dick. Like…like we thought we’d lost Jason.”

"Father…" Damian breathed, sitting up a little more. "You won’t lose me. Pennyworth said I would be fine."

"And what if you weren’t?" Bruce asked, walking forward and sitting on the edge of the bed. "What if it was more than just a small dose of poison? What if that spiked bat had been aimed diagonally as opposed to horizontally? It could have taken out a lung, Damian, or worse."

Bruce paused, putting his hand on Damian’s face, cupping his cheek. “Do you remember, a few months ago, when you were worried about the others? And you were so  _terrified_  that they were dead. That there was nothing you could do to help them or protect them. I’ve felt that for you since the day I saw you and Dick fighting against Hurt. I feel that for you _every day_. What if Talia decides to stop fighting  _for_  you, and instead just kills you? I don’t know if I could…”

Bruce stopped talking, trying to compose himself. Alfred put his hand on his shoulder in support. For the first time, Damian could see the emotions that Bruce normally held inside. His insecurities about his abilities, the fear for his children – not just Damian, but all of them – and the pain of days gone by when he wasn’t able to protect those he cared so much about.

"The other night…the injuries you sustained…Yea, I know they aren’t life threatening. You’re a strong young man; I know you’ll bounce back. But…seeing you like that. Bloody and unconscious a few feet from the edge of the docks. Just a few feet away from  _me_. It was…my breaking point.”

"Bruce…" Dick muttered in the silence.

"If you aren’t Robin…then maybe I can keep you safe. Protect you in ways I’ve failed to protect your brothers," Bruce said. His hand on Damian’s face gave a slight tremble. "Maybe I can protect you like a father should protect his son."

Damian felt himself leaning into his father’s hand. Bruce stroked his cheek as he whispered, “So, have you already decided for me, Father?”

"It is merely a suggestion, Master Damian," Alfred responded quickly. "That is your father’s feelings on the subject. And clearly, we’ll have at least a week while you heal to figure out what our next step in the matter will be."

"What say you, Grayson?" Damian asked, glancing at his brother.

"I think you should keep doing what you’re doing, Dami," Dick said with a grin, as he reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair.

"You also have a habit of disagreeing with Master Bruce on principle," Alfred scolded. Dick grinned wider. Damian looked at the butler expectantly. Alfred cleared his throat, "As for the situation at hand, I believe it is between you and your father. Do not make a decision based on what Richard and I say."

"Oh, I already know what my decision is. I was just curious of your stances," Damian said as he grabbed his father’s hand in both of his, pulling it away from his face. He kept Bruce’s hand in his grasp, though, as he looked up at him. "I know you are… _frightened_  for me but…I wish to stay Robin.”

Damian saw his father sigh slightly. “Not because I don’t wish to do what you ask, Father. No one here likes to see you so…beside yourself. Especially me. And I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I was  _bred_  for this. I was raised to help you in this mission. If I must get injured to protect you, then so be it. That’s how it is supposed to be.”

"Damian, no-" Bruce started.

"If you leave me behind to save my life, who will be there to save yours?" Damian interrupted. He felt his grip on his father’s hand tighten instinctively. "Surely not Grayson or Drake. They can barely save themselves. And frankly sometimes I’m surprised any of them made it through one day as Robin, let alone years."

Damian watched as, as he spoke, a small smile played on his father’s lips. “I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit.”

"Yea, anyway," Dick said, poking the side of Damian’s head. Damian glanced at him, grinning mischievously.

"Father, while Grayson did appoint me Robin when I first came here, it was  _my_  choice to carry it on,” Damian continued, staring back up at Bruce. “And come what may, injury or otherwise, I wish to continue.”

Voices quietly floated up from downstairs. “That must be Timothy and Jason,” Alfred said, standing. “Come, Master Richard, let’s go fetch them.”

As Dick and Alfred made their way out of the room, Titus decided to follow, wriggling himself out from behind Damian and leaping from the bed, once again galloping through the door and down the hall. Damian was left sitting up, clutching his stomach as pain flowed through his muscles at the sudden movement. Bruce immediately took the dog’s place, shifting himself so he now sat behind his son, letting the boy relax against his shoulder.

Bruce gently kissed Damian’s head before he rested his face in the boy’s hair, wrapping his arm across his chest. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind, son?”

"I’m afraid not, Father," Damian replied, closing his eyes in the brief moment of peace, knowing it’d be impossible to do so later with his brothers returning in a matter of minutes. "If that’s okay with you."

"I just don’t want anyone to take you from me." Bruce whispered as his arm tightened across Damian’s chest. "Not even God himself. I won’t let him."

Damian smiled. It wasn’t a  _yes that’s fine with me_  or a  _no this is an awful idea_. It was just his father agreeing to let Damian make his own choice, and that was good enough for him. It seemed Bruce was…trusting him on this. And Damian wouldn’t say it, but that idea was making him happier than he’d ever been.

He would work harder, though. Train more, make sure he mastered abilities before they went out in the field in hopes that there would be less chance he got injured, so days like this didn’t happen as often. Damian didn’t want to worry his father – he had no idea his father thought about his potential death  _that much_ – but at the same time, he couldn’t  _stand_ the thought of his father out there alone, without him at least as backup.

Because Batman needed a Robin. And Damian would rather be out there protecting his father than on the sidelines saving himself. Always.

"I won’t let God have you either." Damian said quietly, as he heard his brothers’ footsteps on the stairs. He reached up with both hands and clung to his father’s arm, feeling himself sink into Bruce’s embrace. He scoffed as he said, "He should be so lucky."


	9. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t tempt me if I don’t see the day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written before Batman Inc. 8.

He'd failed. Plain and simple.

He failed in obeying his father. He failed in stopping his mother. He'd failed in battling his clone.

But he wasn't the one paying for his failure.

His father. Grayson. Titus. Alfred. Even Drake and Todd?

They were…mourning him. And it was hard for Damian to watch, knowing he caused that pain. Knowing he couldn't do anything to fix it.

He couldn't explain what had happened. He remembered getting stabbed through. His last feeling was being lifted into his father's arms. And then, for a while…nothing. No big white light, no deep dark blackness. Just space and…nothingness.

The next thing he knew, he was standing under a tree on the Wayne Manor grounds. He couldn't feel anything, but he could move. Well, scratch that. He couldn't feel anything  _unless_ he tried to move into the sunlight. Because then it burned.

Huh. So all those ghost hunting reality shows had the right idea. The paranormal really  _are_  more comfortable in darkness.

He had planned on waiting until darkness. Then go find everyone. He knew what he was, he wasn't going to be in denial about it. A dead child. A spirit. A ghost. But he was curious. Would they be able to see him? Hear him? Feel him?

He hoped so. More than anything he hoped so.

But he didn't have to wait until the night. His family came to him. One by one, throughout that first afternoon, they all came outside, walking mindlessly to the nearby graveyard – right near Damian and his tree, as it were – and going to a newly dug plot.

"Hello again, Master Damian."

"Hey, kid."

"…son."

"Damian."

"…Sorry I haven't been around, Little D…"

None of them really did anything. They'd stand there, staring at the obelisk, or the few flowers left at its base. Sometimes they'd say a few words, but most of the time they would just stay quiet.

When darkness finally did fall, Damian found he could move freely. Immediately he went into the Manor. The place had always seemed kind of dismal, but now its silence was suffocating – even for him, who found he was only 'breathing' out of habit.

It went on like this for  _days_. Everyone remained at the Manor after everything subsided – most likely for Alfred's sake, so he could patch them all up and watch them recover – but no one interacted. Alfred brought them all their meals separately. Titus would pick and choose which of them he followed for the day, though always seemed to be keeping an eye out for his master.

Due to the ridiculous lack of light in the giant house, Damian found he could move among its walls twenty-four hours a day. So he did. Being dead had its perks; after all, you didn't _need_  to sleep.

He watched them as they continued their vigil. Daytime was tough. They'd all come and go – in doors here, out doors there. The secret passages to the roof. Damian couldn't follow them everywhere. He tried, but like everything else recently, he failed at that too.

Cons of being dead: Sunlight's a bitch.

Nighttime was both the easiest and hardest time. Everyone was inside, unmoving, so Damian could keep tabs. But that's when the nightmares hit. The crying, the screaming, the punching of things. He tried to gauge who would do it most, or when, but there was never a pattern. That's just how grief worked.

But Damian would do his best. If Jason drank too much, Damian would slowly move the bottles and guns away from him, just in case he thought to do something stupid. If Alfred was hit by a wave of tears while cleaning, he would try to wipe away some of the dirt himself. Sometimes, he'd find a bit of solace in sitting in a room with Tim. And maybe the older boy did too. It was rare, but Tim would sometimes look up from the floor tile he was glaring at and stare in Damian's general direction with a sad, pained, forced smile while tears welled in his eyes. "Are you there, Damian?" he'd whisper. "Can you hear me?"

He'd lie with Dick for hours as the man sobbed and screamed, curling up into a ball while violently clutching a pillow to his face. Damian would just hang onto his arm, hoping, like with Tim, that every so often his mentor would feel him nearby and be calmed by it.

His father…how do you comfort someone who has  _literally_  lost everything three times over? How do you comfort a man who is bent on  _not_  being comforted?

So Damian did the only thing he could think of. He stood by. He stood next to that large chair in the cave while his father typed angrily. He stood on the fire escape and watched as his father pummeled thieves and crooks. He stood on the windowsill as his father went into his room and flipped through his sketchbooks, or sat by his bed staring into a fire.

Damian quickly found that, regardless of the humans, Titus  _could_  see him. So could the cat. And the cow, it seemed, though she was mostly unfazed.

But Titus and Alfred could see, hear and feel him, like he was actually there. And they acted on that. Meowing loudly as he walked down the hallways, barking and running after him as they came in from outside. Rubbing their bodies against his legs or ramming their heads into his hand. At first, it was nothing. Damian didn't think it was a problem. In fact, he enjoyed it. But then he began to notice the glances and the sighs.

And then stupid Grayson just had to go and ruin everything. He would downright  _stare_  when Titus would run in from outside and then stop in the middle of the hall, near absolutely no one, and collapse onto his back, a blatant invitation for a belly rub. Or when Alfred would be walking through a room and begin nodding his head while doing inexplicable figure eights in the middle of the floor.

And his face would contort into such  _pain_  that Damian couldn't stand it. He'd have to leave the room, dissipate himself into the kitchen or his father's study, scolding himself for not hiding from his animals in the first place. Forcing himself to promise to do so next time.

But after those first few days, everyone left. Drake went back to wherever the hell he came from in the first place. Todd found Roy and Kori on the outskirts of town and flew off in his spaceship. His father seemed to shut down. Ignoring what was missing, ignoring his own feelings. He just kept fighting, kept becoming the Batman so he wouldn't have to be just _Bruce_.

Grayson became… _angry_. Angrier than Damian had ever seen him. He, too, shut down, but in an opposite way than Bruce. He  _refused_  to go on patrol, instead sitting on his crappy apartment sofa for weeks, not answering phone calls, and drinking more alcohol than was probably safe.

And Titus. Poor, poor Titus. He just never seemed to grasp why everyone left, and why his boy never came home anymore.

When Alfred left for his mandated vacation, Damian decided to stay in Gotham. Todd and Drake didn't need him. They would survive. They had people who would take care of them, should they need taken care of. But his father and Grayson didn't. They didn't have anyone. Now that they were barely even on speaking terms with each other, they were…alone.

And it was all Damian's fault.

Yet, they never blamed him. They praised him. Called him brave, heroic,  _special_. And they never left him either. His father would come and stand by his gravesite throughout the day. Grayson, at least once every twenty-four hour period. Both of them saying things like, "You saved so many lives," and "I love you."

It was mind-boggling. They still cared. He had failed, he had  _died_. And  _they still cared._

And if that wasn't enough of a revelation, one rainy day, Grayson suddenly stomped into the graveyard, pointing at Damian's name on the stone. "You get one thing straight, you little brat," he snapped. "This isn't over. You're not done. We got Jason back, we got Bruce back. You can bet your ass we're going to get  _you_  back. That  _I'm_  going to get you back."

Damian's eyes widened in shock. After all he had just put them through, they weren't wishing the pain away. They didn't want to forget that he was in their lives or that he ever existed.

"Jason said he could pull some strings, maybe get a lead on one of the al Ghuls' pits. Though, we are still looking at other options, too."

_They wanted him back._

"So don't get comfortable, got it?"

Damian scoffed, but couldn't stop the grin that was slowly taking over his face as Grayson turned and returned to his bike without another word, determination evident in his struts.

"I didn't plan to."


End file.
